


Corpus Delicti [The Facts of A Crime]

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: J2 CSI 'Verse [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Actors, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Blood, Crime Scenes, Criminalists, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Episode Related, Implied Relationships, Implied Unrequited Feelings, Las Vegas, Legal Drama, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Jensen's job never gets easier. His latest crime scene is no exception. Tasked with investigating the violent murder of a young woman whose body was discovered in a famous actor's hotel room, Jensen tries not to let the circumstances of the crime, not to mention the intrusive press coverage, affect his ability to do his job.Amidst the chaos, however, he meets Jared Padalecki. While his instincts as a CSI tell him to stay away, Jensen can't help being drawn to the struggling actor. As the case progresses, Jensen wonders if Jared might be more than a simple distraction during a stressful case.He could be what saves Jensen from burning out completely.





	Corpus Delicti [The Facts of A Crime]

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off an episode of C.S.I. from 2002 called **The Accused Is Entitled**. It featured Chad Michael Murray as Tom Haviland, hence where the idea originated. For the sake of this universe, Jensen [34] is more than four years older than Jared [28].
> 
>  **PLEASE NOTE** : This is a totally revamped version of my original story. I have removed the entire CSI 'Verse from my Livejournal so that I can edit and refresh each part. For this first story, I've added more than 3000 words to make everything conform to the rest of the series. The story was never originally written to have sequels, yet it ended up having four, and this one really needed a lot of editing. I hope you enjoy the result, whether you've read and enjoyed the series before, or if you're new! Trust me when I say that this version is so much better than the original. It's not just in the details, but hopefully in the story arc as well. I mean, Jensen even has a specialty now! Trust me, that'll come up later :)
> 
> Thank you to [Zuben](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zubeneschamali/pseuds/zubeneschamali) for the willing beta - this really was such a huge project to me and your notes helped me add even more to this story to make it complete. ♥

When everything is said and done, Jensen is going to move to the mountains. Or a remote island. Somewhere nearly devoid of human life.

Five years in Las Vegas are four and a half too many, he knows. There are reasons, glaring ones, why people only come here on vacation. Any longer than a week and they become part of the cesspool Jensen gets to experience on a nightly basis.

Not everyone sees what Jensen Ackles sees, however. Those who do stick out socially like sore thumbs. Bruised digits, discolored and poorly bandaged. Probably the reason he hates Vegas more than the average citizen. Normal people would hate it, too, if they could see just beneath the surface. He can't complain...too much. He chose this life, but never thought he'd be on the verge of burning out so early in his career.

Most of the time, now, he feels disconnected. He works hard, excels at his job, but it's becoming more and more difficult. Jensen has been rewarded and promoted—rising to become graveyard shift supervisor when he was only 32 years old despite other applicants being older and more experienced. He wanted the responsibilities that came with his new role; he just wasn’t prepared for it to affect him the way it has. 

Life in this city can drain a person. Here, sins are welcomed, deviances celebrated.

Dealing with death is worse. 

Jensen doesn't revel in the sins and deviances, but he makes his living off the results. Which makes him just like everyone else living in Vegas. But again, not everyone experiences Sin City like Jensen.

His cell phone rings, cutting through the stormfront in his mind. The dispatch officer relays the necessary information in a flat voice. Jensen ends the call and leans back in his chair, taking a moment before he steps out of the office.

Homicide at the Palms.

It's time to go to work.

***

Jensen knows something's off when he and Catherine pull up to the Palms.

She didn't say much on the ride over, but then they've never been overly friendly. Jensen knows why, and he doesn't blame her. Having someone a decade younger than you as your superior must be awkward, but Catherine has only herself to blame. 

She made her mistakes. Living with them isn't as easy.

Media surrounds death like flies, but there are more reporters and camera flashes than Jensen would expect. It’s not even the first homicide at the Palms this week. Warrick, Sara, and Nick follow Jensen and Catherine into the main lobby, the mass of photographers trying their best to get in the way.

It gets clearer when they get to their crime scene and Jensen hears the name being whispered throughout the room.

Tom Haviland.

He's not so cut off from normal life that he doesn't recognize the name. Doesn’t mean he cares, though. Catherine snaps into work mode; Jensen's already there. He blocks out everyone except the detective reviewing the scene and circumstances, his eyes darting from side to side, taking in everything he can at first glance.

Single victim, female, Asian. Blood everywhere—the bedsheet looks like a butcher’s apron—which can be explained in part by the victim’s wound. Throat slit, ear to ear. There are multiple other injuries to catalog, including defensive wounds. Sexual assault seems likely given the state of the victim’s lingerie and her position on the room’s only bed, but he’ll wait for the autopsy to give the final word.

The blood is all he needs right now.

“The victim’s name was Kim,” the detective tells him. “Mr. Haviland brought her up to the room, but we haven’t gotten much more than that.”

Jensen’s mind immediately begins analyzing the spatter patterns, visions of each injury flashing before his eyes. Mentally removing the high velocity spatter consistent with a severed throat, he considers the rest of the blood. Barely five minutes go by before Jensen realizes there’s something important missing from this crime scene.

The room's enormous glass windows look over the twinkling sprawl of Las Vegas: bright lights almost as far as the eye can see until they stop, giving way to nothing but blackness beyond. Jensen pauses just for a moment, knowing that outside this single room, life in this manic city goes on, uninterrupted. The city never dies, only the people in it.

There's a commotion at the door, and Jensen turns to see Tom Haviland himself signing autographs for the uniformed officers. Shaggy, blond hair hanging over his eyes, scruff around the edge of his squared jaw, a thicker goatee covering his chin. His manner, too casual; his eyes tell Jensen that he’s here tonight playing a role. This is Tom Haviland, in character. 

The lead detective quickly breaks up the group, sends his officers back into the hallway. Jensen catches a glimpse of the actor's hands. They’ve been perfunctorily washed clean, but Jensen homes in on the blood around his fingernails. All his fingernails. Too much blood to be incidental. Haviland has just become a part of Jensen’s crime scene.

Lucky him.

The detective doesn’t miss the blood on Haviland’s hands either, leading to one question after another. That’s the first time anyone on the scene hears about the second—now missing—woman, Tania, who he’d also invited up to the room. Haviland goes on to claim that, while he was attempting to help Kim, she managed to say that Tania attacked had her.

The lies Haviland tells are easy to see through. Jensen saw Kim’s fatal injury; he knows there’s no way she would have been able to speak, let alone name her killer. There's a cockiness about the actor that doesn't sit well with Jensen, and he knows he's not the only one reading it that way. Despite his claims and protestations, Haviland is taken into custody. Last one to see the victim alive, access to the room, blood literally on his hands. Any detective worth their salt would have done the same thing.

Haviland will be paraded out through the casino in handcuffs. No wonder the paparazzi were out in force downstairs.

The scene is immediately quieter with Haviland gone. Distractions dealt with, Jensen can finally get down to business.

***

Down on the casino floor, Jensen listens, attempting to block out the loud music, while Nick Stokes reviews the evidence he’s collected from the craps table where Tom Haviland was last seen. He knows Nick is impatient and wants to get back to the lab, but, for this case, Jensen won’t take any chances. He doesn’t need to know Tom Haviland to deduce that the man, whether he’s guilty or not, can afford the best attorneys, and the best attorneys hire the most convincing ‘experts.’ That, and Haviland’s involvement attracted the press. More press meant more scrutiny.

The entire team needs to be thorough, and that starts here, now, at the scene.

Thinking ahead of the science: it's something Dr. Grissom would have done. Jensen misses Gil, he really does, but he hadn’t spent nearly as much time learning from the famous entomologist the way Nick, Warrick, and the others had.

The Vegas Crime Lab is the best in the country. Even though he’d received half a dozen offers in other cities when he decided to leave Dallas, Jensen would have been crazy to turn down the position here. Las Vegas needed a Blood Spatter Analyst—the missing card in their deck of forensic specialties—and Jensen was the best. However, his skills weren’t the only reason he was selected to replace Grissom after only a few years living in the Nevada desert. He had expertise, of course, but a supervisor required more than that to manage a team. 

A supervisor needed to understand that the job didn’t end when the evidence was processed. They worked crime scenes and ran their tests, but in the end, criminalists were nothing more than interpreters, translating science into facts for lawyers, judges, and juries.

Jensen had been assured, more than once, that his priorities were what got him promoted when Grissom stepped down less than two and a half years after Jensen joined the lab.

Other members of his team saw it differently.

Leaving Nick to finish photographing and bagging more than a dozen pairs of dice, Jensen makes his way off the casino floor. He’s on his way back up to the crime scene when he spots a tall man in one of the lounges between banks of obnoxiously loud slot machines being interviewed by one of the uniformed officers. The man seems vaguely familiar to Jensen, although he looks terrified right now. His wavy, brown hair moves in his face as he shakes his head at the officer. Jensen steps closer.

The officer asks, "So, you weren't with Mr. Haviland after dinner?"

"No, I told you, I went up to my own room after we finished eating.” Jensen can hear the guy's voice wavering, as if he's desperately trying to believe what he's saying.

"Why can't you tell me what's happening?" His voice is just a shaky whisper, though he looks straight at the officer as he’s speaking, hazel eyes pleading for an explanation.

Jensen moves to interrupt and the officer steps back. The man being questioned looks up at Jensen from where he's just collapsed on the seat behind him. He doesn't ask for an introduction; he simply switches his stare to Jensen.

"They've arrested Tom for something, haven't they?"

"Mr. Haviland has been taken into custody, yes," Jensen starts. The official phrases come out of him easily.

"What the hell happened?" Jensen's eyes slip down to the guy's forearms. His hands twisting together in his lap make the veins pop out on his tanned skin. He doesn't know who this man is, and normally Jensen would just walk away, leaving things like this to the uniforms while his time is better spent. 

There’s something indefinable keeping Jensen here. He wants to call it professional instinct—his gut telling him this man is hiding something—but it would be a lie.

Jensen finds himself answering.

"A young woman was found murdered in Mr. Haviland's suite," he says. The explanation comes out flat and toneless. "He was taken into custody because he had blood on his hands and couldn't accurately account for his whereabouts over the last few hours."

Jensen stops because the guy's just staring at the floor, unmoving. He's never been great with victims, families, and witnesses—the evidence is his job.

"I heard you say you haven't been with him since dinner.” The guy finally looks up. "You're a friend of Mr. Haviland's?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call us friends." He clears his throat. "I'm Jared Padalecki. Do you, I mean...should I spell it for you?"

Jensen almost smiles, but shakes his head. "I'm not writing anything down, it's all right."

"I feel like all I've done for the last hour is spell my name. Kept getting asked the same questions, but never got answers to mine." Jared tries to laugh, but it sounds tired. Jensen doesn't blame him. He's not comfortable asking the guy more questions, but he can't shut off the part of his mind that demands answers.

"You had dinner with Mr. Haviland but nothing afterwards?"

Jared sighs, weary, and Jensen knows he's probably gone over this a few times already. He replies anyway.

"Right, we're staying here at the Palms, but we had dinner at some fancy place in the Bellagio. Tom can get in wherever he wants, you know? Seems like that’s all we've done since we got here. Expensive meals, parties, gambling, and crashing. Well, I crashed,” Jared laughs humorlessly. “I've never been to Vegas before, but I don't think I can take much more of Tom's lifestyle."

"You're not an actor?"

"Well, I am.” Jensen sees Jared's eyes focus a little bit more at the subject change. "But not like Tom."

"I can tell." Jensen's not sure why he says that, but it's true. The stifling aura that was around Tom Haviland is thankfully missing from Jared. He clearly takes it the wrong way, however, as his expression quickly fades.

"Yeah, I'm not really famous. At all."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"It's all right." Jared's clearly exhausted and Jensen can finally hear the drawl in his words. He hears it out of Nick's mouth every now and again making him homesick. Jensen is quieter around Nick when he hears the Texan come out, content to listen, though moments like those give Nick other ideas.

"Do I need to stay down here or can I go back to my room?"

Jensen looks around. The uniformed officer walked away almost as soon as Jensen started talking and the casino floor is back to bustling. It's pathetic, the pull of the slot machines and the hordes who won't stop playing even for a murder.

"No, I think you can get some sleep." Jensen really does smile this time, earning a small one from Jared in return. "If the detectives need to talk to you, they already have your information. Just don't leave Las Vegas until you're cleared by LVPD, okay?"

Jared nods and stands, yet still appears lost in the chaos. Jensen can't seem to walk away with him looking like that, and he pulls out one of his cards.

"My name is Jensen, by the way. Jensen Ackles." He hands Jared his information. "I head up the Crime Scene Unit that's working on this case."

Jared's staring at him again, which is probably Jensen's cue to leave. He motions to the card.

"Well, if you remember anything, don't hesitate to call me."

Jensen watches Jared turn around before walking back towards the elevators. Jensen has a feeling this case is about to kick the shit out of him.

***

The moment Jensen gets back to the lab, it’s apparent that he was correct. The press is already a nightmare, though he's done his best to limit his own team's exposure. Let Conrad Ecklie deal with the rest of it; his boss loves the spotlight.

Unfortunately, Jensen’s barely in the building ten minutes before he's dragged away from his blood spatter evidence and into a status meeting where Ecklie, the assistant district attorney, and the sheriff are all firing questions at once.

Forty minutes later, Jensen can feel a migraine setting in and wishes the day shift had caught this case instead. Between here and Dallas, he's worked enough major cases that he'd be willing to pass the baton. Reporters and lawyers irritate him. He could follow Gil's example and ignore everyone, but doubts he'd get away with it. He got this promotion because he wasn't Grissom and he intends to keep it.

As the night shift processes each piece of evidence, the story of Kim Soo’s death takes shape.

Greg Sanders finds Kim’s DNA along with Haviland’s saliva on a pair of dice Nick collected from the casino. While those samples were running, Nick pieced together hotel surveillance videos and demolished Haviland’s so-called alibi. Warrick’s samples proved that the blood under Haviland’s nails belonged to Kim; Catherine’s samples, taken from the sink in a utility room just down the hall from Haviland’s hotel room, showed that he tried to wash off the rest.

Jensen works on the bed sheet, lets the spatter speak to him. With the sheet hanging up in the lab, he stands back and isolates each event. The defensive wounds, Kim’s throat being cut, cast-off from the weapon which, according to autopsy, was most likely a corkscrew.

With the evidence in front of him, he remains sure that there is something missing: there is more blood than there should be. Fighting exhaustion, Jensen cuts a dozen more swatches from the medium velocity spatter that doesn’t match Kim’s injuries and drops them in the DNA lab. There’s another impression on the sheet, something Jensen doesn’t recognize. So far, he hasn’t been able to match the pattern to anything found in the hotel room. He tables that piece of the puzzle for now; DNA is the priority.

An hour later, Greg brings him the results. The blood from the latest samples is neither Kim’s nor Haviland’s. Jensen figures the blood could be from the mysterious Tania until Greg informs him that the unknown contribution is from a man. 

Jensen thought more evidence would seal Haviland’s fate. Instead, they may have just given him reasonable doubt.

***

It's close to eight in the morning when Jensen comes up for air. Every news station leads with the Haviland murder story; the actor's lawyer is already getting plenty of screen time. Jensen's finally on his way home, the day shift having taken over processing on the high-priority case. His team is no good without rest and fresh eyes, and thankfully the entire crime lab is working as one unit on this.

Back at his modest, desert ranch-style house, he showers before toasting and devouring four Eggo waffles and crashing on his bed. Jensen skips the news channels, settling on an unknown and unremarkable movie that he ends up muting. He's just drifting off, grateful that pure exhaustion is overriding his usual need to wind down after a shift, when his cell rings.

Damn Ecklie for telling him to keep his phone handy.

"Ackles."

The soft, Texan voice that responds doesn’t belong to Nick, thank God, but it does banish the near-sleep fog clouding Jensen's mind.

"Oh, hi. It's Jared...Padalecki?"

...The hell?

"You gave me your card, said to call you if I remembered anything." He sounds a little unsure, but his voice is stronger than it was when Jensen interviewed him at the Palms.

"Right, so did you?"

"Not really."

There's a moment of silence while Jensen waits for the guy to say why he really called. He hears a long sigh on the other end of the line, can feel a bit of Jared's frustration.

"I just can't wrap my head around this. I've been watching the news this morning, hearing what's being said about Tom, and I just...there's no one left to talk to. Tom's with his lawyers, I haven't seen Ray since last night, and God, I think I'm alone and..."

"Jared, take a deep breath," and Jensen suddenly wonders why he wants to play therapist. "I know it's hard and overwhelming, but—"

He stops, realizing that he's just spilling those pamphlet phrases again, and he knows that's not what Jared needs. He changes the subject, remembering the flash of life in Jared's eyes at the hotel.

"Are you and Tom good friends?" Jensen tries not to call him Mr. Haviland; the situation requires a more personal approach. "I know you said you were an actor, too."

He hears Jared’s measured breathing, hopes he's not starting to lose it, though Jensen wouldn't blame him.

"I am, right," he starts. "I met Tom a few years back filming this stupid horror flick, before he made it big. He introduced me to most of the people I know in L.A., got me a couple of small parts. We met up at this party a couple of weeks ago and started talking. Then, a few days later, he invited me to Vegas. I thought the trip would help me book one or two jobs, but I had no idea..."

Jared pauses and Jensen tries quickly to divert him away from thinking about Haviland's current situation.

"Any movies I might have heard of?" He's never been one for films, but the guy had looked familiar.

"I doubt it," Jared echoes his thoughts. "I did _House of Wax_ with Tom, then _Cry Wolf_ , and a couple guest spots on television. I've auditioned for a couple of pilots, but I'm not sure they'll work out."

"I think I recognized you from something, might have been from television."

"Seriously? I didn't think anything I'd done could be remembered."

"Well, I'm home during the day, lots of bad television on daytime."

Jensen can hear Jared laughing softly, a good sound after the near panic of moments ago. He stops abruptly though.

"Wait, you're home during the day?"

"Yeah, I work the graveyard shift. That’s why I was at the Palms in the middle of the night."

"Shit, you were probably sleeping."

"Trying to." Jensen figures honesty is best. "Been a long night, you can imagine."

"Yeah, I can," and Jared goes quiet again, Jensen cursing himself. "I'm really sorry, Jensen."

It's the first time he's heard Jared say his name, like they're friends or something. "It's okay, I wasn't asleep yet. Can't imagine it'll take me long."

"Still," Jared hesitates. "I'll let you go. I only wanted..."

"Yeah, Jared. I know." Jensen does. He had some tough cases when he was starting out. Solitude only worked part of the time. Sometimes you just needed to reach out, not knowing who you'd end up grasping on to.

"Okay. Bye, Jensen."

There's a click, and Jared's gone. Jensen stares at his cell for a moment, not exactly sure what just happened. The only word he can come up with is _weird_. He's never developed a personal connection with a witness before. People are unreliable; the evidence never lies. 

Jensen gave Jared his card, but he never expected it to be used—not for this. Jared didn’t need a cop; he needed a friend. Jensen found himself stepping into that role with only the slightest hesitation.

The cell rings sharply in his hand and Jensen nearly drops it. It's not the same number as before. Not Jared.

"Ackles."

He listens as the LVPD detective relays the situation. Seems like sleep isn't going to be an option after all.

***

After the second body is found, the case is fast-tracked beyond anything Jensen's experienced.

He meets Nick on the golf course, stares down at the bunker where the medical examiner’s team is slowly uncovering Tania’s body from beneath the sand. Like Kim Soo, she’s wearing lingerie, but it’s evident she was severely beaten before death. Jensen finally sees injuries that match the medium velocity spatter on the bedsheet. If it wasn’t for the male DNA…

Nick calls out, “Jensen. You’d better see this.”

From the edge of the bunker, Jensen looks down to where Nick is crouched beside Tania’a body. 

“What is it?”

Nick frowns and points to Tania’s lower body, just now being uncovered. “Frank and beans, Jensen.”

It takes a moment to process what he’s saying. When it does, Jensen gasps. “The male DNA.”

“It _was_ Tania’s blood on the sheets,” Nick agrees. 

“She didn’t kill Kim,” Jensen says. “She’s another victim.”

The accompanying visual isn’t pleasant.: Tom Haviland enters his hotel room with two women, things get heated. Tom reaching down and realizing one of his partners is another man. His alpha ego wouldn’t stand for it, hence the uncontrollable rage evident in Tania’s significant bruising.

Nick sighs. “So much for Haviland’s reasonable doubt.”

Despite the discovery, a mountain of evidence remains to be processed from both crime scenes—from the casino’s surveillance, they know someone besides Haviland dumped Tania’s body at the golf course—and a preliminary hearing is scheduled two days from now. 

“They’re not waiving time?” Catherine asks, disbelieving.

“Haviland’s attorney is exercising his right to a speedy trial,” Jensen explains while his team is gathered in the break room. “No stalling, no requests for continuances.”

Warrick scoffs. “A good defense attorney always does the last thing you’d expect. Puts all the pressure on us.”

“If the judge thinks that our evidence on Haviland isn't strong enough to go to trial,” Catherine points out, “he's going to dismiss the charges.”

“They’re trying to rattle us,” Nick says, to which Jensen responds, “Don’t let them.”

Of course, the sensationalist media is having a field day.

The rush to bring the case to trial is just another ruse, one afforded only to those with means. The deadline, combined with the presence of a forensic expert hired by Tom Haviland’s attorney to review procedures in the lab, adds pressure to everything they do. For less prominent labs, either one could spell disaster. But this is Las Vegas, and Jensen trusts his team. Between Catherine, Nick, Warrick, and Sara, their combined experience in the field spans decades. It doesn't change the fact that everything they do will be scrutinized harder, ripped apart by the defense and left for them to build up again, just to prove they can.

Jensen is itching to get his hands on everything they'd tagged and bagged from the golf course. However, the presence of the defense’s expert, some well-paid suit who hasn't seen the inside of a lab for years, requires Jensen to step back. He spends his time supporting his team, shielding them from the media and fielding the so-called expert’s probing questions, while reviewing their work and dotting any i's that might go overlooked.

For the preliminary hearing, the burden of proof is on the crime lab. The media, fed sound-bites from Haviland’s defense team, digs into the lab. Even into the criminalists themselves. Jensen tries to ignore it, gets his team to ignore it, but he can’t help that it’s out there. 

The press tears into Catherine’s past as an exotic dancer, Warrick’s documented gambling problem, and Sara’s relationship with their former supervisor. Jensen isn’t spared the same treatment. Somehow, the defense obtained his personnel records from Dallas; they’ve branded him as a ‘traitor’ to his previous police department.

They don’t care that Jensen made his peace with that word long ago.

Jensen can only hope that once Haviland’s preliminary hearing is over, the frenzy they're living in will subside. The evidence is good and solid. In Jensen's mind, it’s now up to the prosecutors to sell this case.

The night before the hearing, he finds himself thinking about Jared. There was a brief message from Jared on his voicemail earlier, but he hadn't tried calling back since.

Now, Jensen’s sitting in his car about to drive home for a few hours of sleep and thinking about calling Jared.

He clicks his phone shut and starts driving, not because he doesn't want to talk to Jared, but he really isn't sure what to say. Jensen wants to tell Jared how tired he is, how he hasn't slept more than a few hours in the last three days. He wishes he could tell Jared everything he's realized about Las Vegas, things this case has brought into sharp focus, but he can't. More importantly, he shouldn’t.

With the defense’s hired expert watching everything the CSIs do, even making a simple phone call could be construed as inappropriate; the fact that Jared didn’t see or hear anything on the night of the murders is irrelevant. It’s still his friend being accused of horrific crimes. The last thing Jensen wants is to give the defense something else to use against them.

Yet he can’t seem to get Jared out of his head—it doesn’t matter that he barely knows the man—and part of him wants to call anyway. He wonders if Jared would mind, or if they could simply talk as friends, something Jensen is starting to believe he needs.

By the time he gets home, he's talked himself out of calling Jared, if only because his head is swimming with evidence and confusion. More than a soft voice in his ear, he needs sleep. He'll be of no use later if he can barely keep his eyes open.

***

Turns out Jensen didn't need to call Jared. The guy shows up at the preliminary hearing, sitting a few rows behind Tom Haviland and his attorneys. Jensen knows better than to acknowledge his presence, but he can’t suppress the warmth in his chest when their eyes meet for the first time.

The hearing is awkward for Jensen; his attention is split between darting glances at Jared and listening to the testimony of detectives and his fellow criminalists. The whole day is as rough as Jensen expects, but his team is prepared well. 

Before the hearing began, he’d reminded Catherine not to react to being baited when her past was dragged before the jury. With Sara and Warrick, he'd told them to keep their cool, act professional, no matter what the defense brought up about their personal lives. No one was perfect, and Jensen wished he could remind every lawyer of that. Nick only had to do his job, and let his considerable charm do the rest. 

As vicious as Haviland’s attorney tries to be, their testimonies are solid.

Throughout it all, Jared sits quietly on the other side of the courtroom, glancing over at Jensen every so often. He returns the looks during lulls in the proceedings, but when the day is finished, Jensen doesn’t wait around outside the courtroom, telling himself that it’s better this way. Nothing can get in the way of their case. He leaves with his team, chatting with Catherine for a bit, just rehashing, reassuring her he'll see her at the lab later that night.

Desperately in need of food and some space to breathe, Jensen turns his Tahoe in the direction of one of his favorite hole-in-the-wall diners. 

He’s sitting alone in one of the booths when the bell over the door jingles and Jared walks in.

Jensen's sure the surprise doesn't show on his face as Jared walks over and sits across from him in the booth. He looks good, certainly better than he did when they first met in the Palms. The black dress shirt fits his torso nicely, the sleeves rolled up revealing those toned forearms again, catching Jensen's gaze. It certainly looks like he’s gotten more sleep than Jensen over the last few days.

"So," Jensen starts when he's finished his once-over. "You didn't wait for me to call you back?"

"I figured you were busy. I followed you from the courthouse."

For a minute, Jensen wonders if he should be worried. Five years in Las Vegas has made him more cynical, and he can’t help the thought that he’s being played. That Haviland or his attorneys enlisted Jared to find something they could use against Jensen during the hearing. 

Meeting Jared's hazel eyes, though, Jensen throws those concerns out the window. His eyes are too honest. It's not a quality he's used to seeing.

"I didn't think you'd stay in Vegas this long." He avoids the entire stalking issue. "I was surprised to see you at the hearing."

"Didn't really see what else I could do." Jared's fingers worry at the napkin he picks up. "Despite everything, Tom was my friend. I figured he could use the support."

Jensen's had enough training to know that Jared's holding back, but doesn't call him on it. If Jared wants to talk, he'll talk. They're both quiet as the waitress brings over a plate overflowing with scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns, and a side of pancakes. Jared orders coffee and they're alone again.

"Hungry?"

"I love breakfast." Jensen digs into the food, covering nearly everything with syrup. "Never appreciated the classics until I started working nights. This place serves it all day, so..."

Jared gets his steaming cup of caffeine, adds too much sugar for Jensen's tastes.

It's as Jensen's chewing on a mouthful of pancakes that Jared speaks again.

"You know, I haven't spoken to Tom since dinner that night.” He’s frowning like he’s trying to work out why he’s sharing this with Jensen, of all people. “Tell you the truth, I think he forgot that I was here. Up until today, I mean. I heard you arrested Ray, too, for moving a—"

Jared’s complexion has gone a bit pale. He takes a deep breath to recover his composure.

“Even saying it out loud, I still can’t believe it happened.”

"I'm sorry." Jensen's not. Not really. In his opinion, Haviland's a violent murderer and Ray Lester isn’t much better. But people change, and maybe his friendship with Jared was genuine at some point. Jared doesn't strike him as the type of person to be so easily duped.

"Nah, you're not." Jared eyes him carefully, looking beyond the forkfuls Jensen's shoving into his mouth. "I was there today, I heard the evidence. You can't possibly feel anything for someone who's capable of that."

"But I can feel something for you." Jensen doesn't know what scares him more: the fact that he just blurted that out, or that Jared can read him so well. He's used to being the mystery in the room. The efficient but distant colleague.

"Do you?" Jared's still watching him, probably knows what Jensen's thinking.

"Jared."

"Sorry." Jared sort of smiles, but he doesn't look like he minds putting Jensen in this awkward situation.

Jensen forgets about his food for the moment. "I feel bad that you're stuck in the middle of this mess. There's nothing you can do for Tom. Even if he knew he had your support, I really don't think he'd care right now."

"Wow, honesty."

"Means a lot in my job."

"Speaking of your job..."

"You want to know how I can do it?" Jensen feels like he gets this question a lot. "How I can deal with everything I see and hear every day?"

"Not really." Jared looks a little thrown. "I just wanted to know if it's all right...you know? For me to be here, talking to you."

It’s so close to what Jensen’s been thinking about since before dawn. With Jared sitting right in front of him, it’s easier to be selfish; he doesn’t want to chase the man away.

"Seriously?"

"I don’t want to get involved in the trial,” Jared tells him, “but I really don't want to get you in trouble, either."

"Or Tom?"

"Tom's in enough trouble."

Jared says it with a straight face, but there's a quirk to the edge of his mouth. Jensen can't help but laugh, and he's blown away when Jared smiles and joins in. It's a great sound, the likes of which he can’t remember ever hearing before, and he's glad he can help Jared let go, if only for a few minutes in the middle of a cheap Vegas diner.

They stick to small talk after that, but the tense mood is broken. Jared's eyes aren't as dull, and Jensen briefly manages to forget about the case. At Jensen’s urging, Jared finally orders an omelet and, while waiting for his food, he asks how Jensen ended up in Vegas. Figuring he could do worse as far as breakfast companions go, Jensen shares the story of how he received a job offer to join Gil Grissom's team while he was still working in Dallas. 

Joining with the LVPD before he was thirty years old was a feat for Jensen, and he never really regretted moving until recently. He thinks Jared understands, if only a little bit, how life in Vegas wears a man down. The sins here can change people.

Jared probably understands far too well, now.

Eventually, Jensen knows he must leave. He only has a few hours until he needs to be back at the lab—Haviland’s case isn’t the only one being processed—and his body’s crying out for sleep. Jared says he understands, following Jensen out of the diner and around to the back where they're both parked.

Jensen's unlocking his vehicle when Jensen feels large hands grab his waist, spinning him and pinning him against the Tahoe's door. Jensen doesn't say anything as Jared moves completely into his space. Hazel eyes never leave his own, and Jared's only a breath away when he starts whispering.

"This...this is what I can't get out of my head," he breathes, words ghosting across Jensen's lips. "I can't stop thinking about you. I barely know you, and nothing else matters. Not Tom, not this crazy city. Just you."

The final words are spoken right against Jensen's mouth—he can feel them more acutely than he hears them. It's Jensen who bridges those final millimeters to kiss Jared, not sure he would have been able to stop himself.

Jared reacts quickly, and the kiss that starts out as a press of lips on lips turns heated as he grips Jensen's hips and covers him against the driver’s side door. Jensen eagerly accepts the tongue caressing his lower lip, offering his mouth for Jared to do with as he pleases.

If Jensen weren't so tired, he'd be hard as a rock right now, and from the press of Jared's hips against his own, he guesses Jared might feel the same.

Jensen manages to bring his hands up between them, wrapping them around Jared's neck and pulling him harder, his own tongue getting the chance to taste Jared. He may not be aroused, but this is certainly the best thing Jensen's felt in years. 

His relationships were few and far between—his career choice was usually enough to stave off romantic attachments—and he’d seen too much living in Vegas to rely on casual encounters. Jared knows who Jensen is, though, and this feels anything but casual.

So, Jensen forgets about the cases waiting for him back at the crime lab. He doesn’t think about Tom Haviland or why Jared’s in Las Vegas in the first place. And he tries not to wonder why this wouldn’t feel as right if he was kissing anyone else besides Jared.

It's a few minutes before the fact that they're in a parking lot catches up to Jensen, and he gently pushes Jared back.

"Look," he starts, and Jared's expression begins to fall. "Wait, no. Just listen to me for a second, Jared. I have to be back at work in a couple hours, and this..." He gestures around, not really sure how to explain what he's feeling. He should have figured Jared would already know.

"This is great, but you need sleep?"

"God, yes." To punctuate his point, Jensen yawns, which makes Jared smile.

"But you and me?"

"Let's get through this hearing, and we'll take it from there. Just don't even think about leaving Vegas yet, please?" Jensen's not used to asking for something like this, but Jared looks perfectly happy with the question. Jensen's rather pleased with the answer.

"I won't."

***

In the end, it takes Jensen, Greg, and Nick working together to uncover that final, damning piece of evidence against Tom Haviland in the middle of the graveyard shift. Well, Jensen and Nick mostly, aided by Greg's vast collection of celebrity gossip magazines rife with paparazzi shots of Haviland lounging around half-naked on sandy beaches.

The last mysterious bloodstain from the bedsheet: the pattern that wasn’t a match to any evidence pulled from the hotel room where Kim and Tania were murdered. Jensen, who thought he’d seen every kind of impression left in blood, had been stumped until Greg mentioned a scar he’d seen in one of the gossip rags. A jagged scar unique to Tom Haviland’s knee.

With the adrenaline rushing, they document the scar from every available angle, match it to photos of the bloodstain, triple-checking as they go. Once Jensen’s sure they have what they need, he steps back and lets Nick finish processing.

From the door, he watches Nick give their DNA technician a warm pat on the back, lingering just a moment too long. Jensen wishes the two of them, Nick especially, saw how good they'd be together. It'd certainly make Jensen's life a little less complicated.

He spends the better part of the shift processing evidence from other pending cases, knowing that the Haviland case is well on its way. Working with Sara is a little less awkward tonight, and she doesn't comment on the fact that Jensen's being more social than he would normally. For Jensen, it's always been the hardest with Sara, considering how she felt about Gil. Without Grissom in the crime lab, he's never understood why Sara stayed in Las Vegas, but he doesn't question her decision. It hasn't affected her work, yet.

The cell phone in his pocket beeps: another text message from Jared. They've come in regularly during the shift, little notes that steer clear of anything too serious. Jared texted earlier that he wasn't planning on attending the next phase of the preliminary hearing, for which Jensen is marginally grateful. Jared doesn’t need to see Haviland like that, and Jensen would concentrate better without the distraction.

Now, when he checks his phone, there's a hotel name and room number waiting in his messages. Jared had mentioned moving out of the Palms right after they'd first talked, wanting to get away from the press and the commotion. 

Jensen smiles to himself and Sara nudges his elbow, trying to get him to focus on evidence they’re processing from a robbery/homicide.

It's no doubt from the combination of sleepless days and all the coffee he's consuming, but Jensen's almost too jumpy to concentrate on the work. For his own good, he takes an hour to crash on the couch in his office, hoping he's more focused on the other side of his nap. He asks Sara to wake him up around four in the morning and prays she doesn't forget.

In less than five minutes, Jensen's fast asleep.

***

"I'm binding this case over for trial sixty days from now."

Jensen breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the judge’s ruling. 

Earlier in the morning, when Jensen took his turn on the stand, his testimony was precise. The defense couldn’t argue their way around Tom Haviland’s scar. Jensen had the photos, medical reports, and blood evidence to prove his theory. He’d been prepared to defend his actions if Haviland’s attorney brought up his history with the Dallas Police Department but, faced with Jensen’s evidence, there was nothing she could do.

During his testimony, Jensen had glanced into the gallery, relieved not to find Jared sitting there. He didn’t want Jared around Haviland any more than necessary.

He’d watched Haviland throughout the rest of the hearing, stymied by the idea that he and Jared were friends at one point. The thought of Jared moving in the same Hollywood circles made Jensen’s stomach turn. The two men couldn’t be more different: one a vicious killer, desensitized to violence after playing the role of alpha male one too many times: the other a naïve actor, kind and full of emotion.

Jensen didn’t want to think about how easy it would have been for Haviland to drag Jared further into this mess. If he and Tom had been closer, it could have been Jared who dumped Tania’s body, Jared in custody and facing his own trial.

Jared was put in Jensen’s path for a reason. He’s just grateful it wasn’t as a murder suspect.

Their work done, Jensen stands with the rest of his team. The prosecutor shakes his hand. Jensen knows it’s a small victory, but it’s one he’ll enjoy.

The defense attorney speaks up amidst the chaos, “I’d like to revisit the issue of bail, your honor.”

“It’s a double homicide, counselor,” the judge reminds her. “Bail is denied. The accused is remanded into the custody of the county jail." 

The sound of the judge's gavel cements his ruling. The criminalists leave the courtroom together, already debating where to grab lunch before going their separate ways for the afternoon. They’ve earned a little time to themselves before getting back to work, since everyone but Jensen and Sara are back on shift tonight. After all, there's no shortage of crime in Vegas.

Life and death go on.

But a small break wouldn't hurt any of them.

***

It's late in the afternoon when Jensen finally pulls up to Jared's new hotel. He's infinitely glad it's not on the main strip; he’d chosen a modest, quiet establishment set outside the electric buzz of Vegas.

Jared's huge smile greets him when the door opens. He looks rested, wearing a plain blue t-shirt over dark jeans. His cologne is subtle and spicy, his skin flushed from a recent shower, his hair curled and wet at the ends. Jared has taken pride in his appearance; Jensen has the feeling it’s entirely for his benefit.

He's glad he decided to drive home and shower before coming to meet Jared, taking the opportunity to ditch his courtroom suit, changing into a clean white button down and grey slacks.

"I was worried," Jared begins, letting Jensen into the room.

"About what?" 

Jensen eyes the king-sized bed with longing, not all of it from arousal. After lunch, he’d gone back to the lab in lieu of a nap, spent an hour making sure there would be no reason for anyone to call him in over his free weekend. The lack of sleep hits him hard, and Jared’s room looks quiet and comfortable. The shades are drawn most of the way, letting in little of the bright afternoon sunshine. The room is blessedly cool compared to the desert heat in the parking lot.

"I thought there was a chance you wouldn't come." Jared follows him inside, circling but not touching Jensen yet. "You might start questioning this and change your mind."

Jensen grabs Jared before he can move further away, looks him straight in the eye.

“I have questions,” Jensen admits. He’s thought about little else since the preliminary hearing concluded. “That doesn’t mean I considered not showing up. I was always going to end up in this room, right now, with you…”

Jared doesn't let him finish; he uses their linked hands to pull Jensen against him. The kiss moves past exploration and straight to excitement, Jared demonstrating filthy skills with his tongue. Their noses bump and it takes Jensen a second to get used to kissing someone slightly taller than him, but it's well worth the adjustment.

Hands get into the mix, desperate for contact. Jared's pulling at Jensen's collar, angling his head so that no part of his mouth is left untouched by Jared's tongue. Jensen spreads his hands across Jared's broad back, curving over shoulder blades and skimming down his spine, tracing the lean body through his t-shirt. He's surprised when Jared suddenly pulls back, his eyes wide and bright.

"Hang on, Jensen, I just need to— _fuck_!" 

That’s the right idea. Jensen moves against Jared, dragging his hips. Interruptions are a bad idea. The less time Jensen has to think, the better. 

"You want to stop?"

"Hell no, just give me a minute. I need to grab a bag from my car."

It's almost cute, the way Jared whines when Jensen steps back. He has a pretty good idea what the bag might contain.

"Just don't move, and I'll be right back." Jared grabs his car keys from the desk and rushes to the door, cheeks blushed and lips red. Quite the pretty picture.

Jensen chuckles to himself as Jared leaves the room and he sits down on the bed. It's even more comfortable than it looked and he lays back, hearing the elevator ding down the hall. He closes his eyes and relives the kiss from moments ago, the feel of Jared against him, while trying to keep his nerves at bay. It's been a while since he's done this, but there's no stopping now.

Making himself comfortable against the firm hotel pillows, Jensen waits for Jared to get back.

***

It's dark when Jensen opens his eyes.

He's sprawled out on Jared's bed, skin tingling from the air conditioning, and he can feel someone lying next to him, a warm hand resting on his thigh.

"You were dead to the world," he hears, turns to look at Jared. "I'm gone for a few minutes and you pass out."

"Could've woken me," Jensen mutters, trying to sit up. Jared's large palms prevent the movement, shifting to lean over him.

"Didn't want to."

The guilt is fleeting, barely an ache in Jensen’s chest. If his body needed sleep that badly, he can’t imagine how useless he would have been during sex; it would have been embarrassing. At least he fell asleep before, not during. 

Above him, Jensen can barely see Jared's smile in the dim light. He stretches to turn on the bedside lamp, wants to see all of Jared.

"I couldn't take advantage of you while you slept."

Jensen stretches, uses the movement to slip his arms around Jared’s back. "I'm up _now_."

"Right. Then I'm definitely going to take advantage of you."

Jared doesn't waste any time fitting himself over Jensen. It's not as frantic as it was when Jensen first got to the room but feels equally amazing. Jared possesses a longer frame than most of Jensen’s previous encounters, and it seems momentarily strange to be completely covered. One long leg slides between Jensen's, and he decides to give up thinking. He's more than willing to give up control, too, and Jared wordlessly takes the lead.

The tongue working in Jensen's mouth is like an onslaught. He’s never kissed anyone like this; never used kissing as such a major part of the foreplay.

"Christ..." he drawls as Jared licks across his bottom lip, holding his chin in place with one hand while the other spans widely across Jensen's stomach. Thumb on his navel, pinky tickling his hip. That hand moves lower, lifting Jensen's thigh to slide against his own.

Jared tries to move back. That’s when Jensen gets back in the game, sucking the younger man's tongue into his mouth until Jared settles back on top of him, rubbing and pressing deliciously between Jensen's spread thighs.

"Think you could come like this?" Jared asks, teeth closing gently around Jensen’s bottom lip. Barely any pressure; it’s feels like a promise.

This is heated enough without Jared saying things like that. The arch of Jensen's back and the moan he lets slip when Jared presses down harder are his only answers. At least until Jared rocks down harder, layers of fabric between them too much to bear. 

"Jared..."

"Don't—I don’t want you to come yet," he whispers against Jensen's cheek.

"Then you'd better stop," Jensen manages. Jared only laughs in response. 

His hips are relentless in their sinuous movement. Jensen tries to reverse their positions, but Jared's too much for his sleep-deprived muscles to handle. Perhaps sensing the need for a shift, Jared rolls to the side and rubs Jensen’s cock through the slacks. He groans and forgets about gaining the upper hand for now. Under Jared’s strong grip, the soft lining of his pants feels amazing against his dick.

Jared stops abruptly, sitting up to yank off his t-shirt. Jensen stares, glad he'd switched on the light. Jared's gorgeous, more than he expected, and he doesn't know where to focus his gaze. His chest is flush, blood coming to the surface of his skin as his body warms with arousal. The sex flush spreads up his long neck and across his collarbones, down along his sternum. That tanned torso goes on forever, leading to the soft, low slung denim. Jensen’s eyes pause at the bulge in Jared's jeans.

No doubt the increased blood flow is having an effect there, too.

Those hands which felt so good on Jensen now move to Jared's zipper, working his cock through his jeans.

"Fuck, Jared," Jensen nearly growls, reaches up to join his hand with Jared's but is pushed back.

"Your shirt, Jensen. Take it off."

Jensen's not sure how he manages to comply. Jared doesn't stop rubbing his own dick through his pants, but his other hand moves to hold Jensen’s hip, preventing him from sitting up. He knows he must make quite a sight, writhing on the bed under Jared's gaze, unbuttoning his shirt and trying to get out of it, all the while Jared keeps up the soft torture.

He doesn't care what he looks like, only that this doesn’t stop. He never realized how badly he needed to let go the way he’s doing now; he might never have known if he hadn't seen Jared at the Palms that night.

Once the shirt's off, Jared looms over him again, mouth and hands everywhere. The pressure on Jensen's cock never lets up. Jeans and slacks are lost at the same time, pushed off and thrown to the side. Boxers soon follow, and then it's skin on skin, lips on lips.

Jensen wants to go further; his body is screaming for more. This taste, as satisfying as it is, isn’t enough. Not after the week they’ve had, muddling through murder and death. Those aren’t unusual in Jensen’s line of work, and he used to cope with a night out, an anonymous encounter, time with friends. In Las Vegas, he’s more likely to stay home and block everything out, trying to sleep and behave like a normal person.

This, giving himself over to Jared, feels better than anything he’s ever tried before. And he knows without asking that Jared needs more, too. The evidence is in his eyes, dark pupils so focused, and in his touch, leaving his fingerprints all over Jensen’s skin. In the way he’s reluctant to leave Jensen for even a moment to grab lube and condoms from the bag he went to get before Jensen fell asleep earlier.

Jensen's on his back, Jared tucked along his side, mouth working gently but thoroughly against his. Jensen can't hold back, not when the moment feels so _close_ ; he reaches for his own cock, thighs wide and open for Jared's wandering hands. The kissing changes pace: from deep and heated when Jared gets a glimpse of Jensen stroking himself, to soft and intimate when lubed fingers press inside his body.

He's rolled further onto his side, Jared's hips fitting perfectly behind him. The wanton pose lifts his ass and gives Jared deeper access. Jensen can't get enough of Jared's hands. Spread wide across his flank, heat transferred between their skin, or long and expert as they work inside him.

Working himself down on Jared's fingers, Jensen feels like he's about to pass out, this time not from lack of sleep. It's all building up within him, his hand loses its rhythm on his dick, all he can hear is Jared panting in his ear, tongue following breath.

"Please, Jared," Jensen doesn't want to come like this, thinks Jared gets the message as fingers are carefully withdrawn. There's space between their bodies for a moment as Jared slips on a condom and slicks himself with more lube. The separation is almost unbearable, but it only takes the span of a few heartbeats before Jared is positioning himself behind Jensen, lifting his leg and pressing inside.

Feeling Jared start to move within him, Jensen stops his strokes. The slightest touch and he'd be coming. He needs the release, but he needs to feel Jared possessing him even more. Jared moans his name over and over, barely a whisper but enough to send a shudder through Jensen.

Jared's legs manage a strong, thrusting rhythm. Reaching back with his free arm, Jensen pulls Jared as close as he can, straining his neck to lay soft kisses and moan pleas against Jared's forehead. He feels Jared's tongue against his chest, wet heat and sharp teeth working his flushed and swollen nipple, sending another wave of arousal down to his dick.

"Jesus, Jensen," he hears, Jared moving to nuzzle at Jensen's neck, arms holding Jensen firmly as his hips move, claiming Jensen from the inside-out. "I needed you...oh fuck. Needed this, wanted this..."

None of it makes much sense, and Jensen's far beyond listening, but the words feel amazing spoken into his skin. Jared groans as he tries to thrust deeper, moves Jensen fully onto his stomach and kneels behind him. With more force and better leverage, the first thrust from the new angle hits Jensen _ohgodrightthere_ ; he barely needs his own hand on his cock, but Jared's are already occupied—one clutching Jensen’s hip and the other softly stroking the back of Jensen's sweaty neck.

It’s perfect this way, and it only takes a few more thrusts before Jensen is coming. The raw sounds spilling from his mouth would be embarrassing if having Jared inside him didn’t feel this good. The pain of the stretch, the pleasure of fullness, the burn of friction from his own hand; he needs all these sensations to drown out everything else in his head.

Jared grips his lower back and cries out, Jensen’s body pulsing around him. He comes, thighs shaking as he tries not to let his weight fall on Jensen.

***

There are three voicemails on Jensen's phone when he finally checks it on Saturday afternoon. Nothing important—emergency call-outs come from dispatch, and Jensen wouldn’t have been able to ignore those even if he and Jared hadn't moved from the bed in hours.

He listens to them while Jared's in the shower. The first is from Conrad Ecklie, congratulating Jensen on Tom Haviland’s indictment; his boss praises the work as if it's the only thing Jensen lives for. The next message is Catherine inviting him out for drinks and distraction. He's never been overly social with the members of his team, but after the Haviland case, he might have broken his own rules. If Jared didn’t exist, that is. Through him, Jensen found his own distraction.

The third is from Nick. His voice is muffled by loud music and laughter, obviously out somewhere with the rest of the team. There’s a hint of a slur in Nick’s words, the result of a few well-earned beers, and Jensen can hear Greg and Warrick yelling in the background. Most of what Nick says is drowned out by the commotion. He erases them all.

Jensen debates getting dressed but then he hears Jared groaning in the shower, and the thought of clothes is abandoned. He doesn't want to leave, certainly would never sneak out. Not on Jared, despite that being his _modus operandi_ for all the hook-ups that came before last night.

Before Jared. After Jared.

Something's changed; Jensen feels it. The numbing dissatisfaction that plagued him before this case hasn't abated, but the loneliness has. Jared hasn't brought up Jensen's job or Tom Haviland’s case since their heated scene outside the diner, but if he does, Jensen knows what he'll say. Something he heard Grissom say when Jensen first arrived in Las Vegas.

 _No one does this job on their own_. 

Beyond the team, outside the department, every investigator needed their outlet, their balance. At the time, Jensen ignored those words; he thought being great at what he did was enough to keep him motivated.

Catherine has her daughter; Warrick and Sara their habits, however unhealthy they might become. Nick and Greg have a friendship which transcends their jobs; they support and distract each other. Before last night, Jensen had nothing but fleeting distractions. Now, he hopes he can have Jared.

It won’t be easy. Jared has a life back in Los Angeles: a life Jensen knows very little about. He hasn’t talked much about his choice to pursue acting, but Jensen has heard enough to realize it’s Jared’s lifelong ambition. There’s still time before any decisions need to be made. Though, for Jensen, his mind is made up. He can’t let Jared slip out of his life as quickly as he’d entered it; Jensen wants more time.

He has no idea how to put these ideas into words: how to tell Jared that _he_ is what Jensen needs. Jared might be what saves Jensen from letting the job burn him out and sharing Grissom's fate. What tips the scales away from the evil and the senselessness Jensen sees daily. 

Jared’s could be the hands that keep him from falling.

And he'll tell Jared as soon as he figures it out.

Right now, he has another day with Jared, and that’s more important. Another day away from his world of sin and deviation, away from the trials of Las Vegas, and Jensen plans to enjoy every minute while he can.

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued in **Evidence in Context** , coming soon!


End file.
